


The Ricochet Effect

by Somandalicious



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, F/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29422020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somandalicious/pseuds/Somandalicious
Summary: Sent to procure an Ancient Magical Artifact, Draco and Hermione are lost in the jungles of Peru.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51
Collections: Dramione Valentine Exchange





	The Ricochet Effect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nztina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nztina/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DramioneValentineExchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DramioneValentineExchange) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Stars, wine and a lousy pick-up line.  
> 

The assignment was supposed to be simple and easy. Straightforward, actually. Portkey to ninety-four miles northwest of Cuzco, Peru, into the Andes to a Pre-Incan ruin and procure an ancient magical artefact. An elaborate headdress which contained a rare crystal that, when donned and lined up with the Ajna Chakra and would then project a map of the known universe. 

Hermione Granger had spent months researching not only the artefact itself for the Department of Mysteries, but also its exact location. She was certain it would be a quick, seamless retrieval, and felt that she could make the excursion alone. 

Her plan, as submitted to the Ministry, was to meet with the Lead Archeologist at the site, and upon verification of her position, the artefact would be surrendered to her and she could return to England.

However, the Ministry felt it would be too dangerous and denied her request. When she appealed, she was only approved under the addendum that she be escorted by an Auror for protection. 

As though she wasn’t a completely adept witch, the cleverest of her age, in fact. She could hold her own in any situation. She was capable and ruthless and often forgot that she lived in a society that still clung to the archaic views of misogyny. 

And to add insult to injury, they prescribed her Draco Malfoy.

It wasn’t that she hated him. She didn’t even dislike him. In fact, the problem was that she felt the exact opposite of loathing for him. She had this ridiculous, silly, school-girl crush on him. It had sprung inexplicably from an argument they’d had a few months prior at Harry Potter’s birthday party. She couldn’t even recall exactly what had prompted the argument, but they were both chest to sternum, red faced, breathing heavily, and shouting at each other. Somewhere in the middle of their row, she wanted him to kiss the devil out of her. He didn’t, thankfully. She had already been alarmed at her desires; if he had kissed her, she probably would have Conjured a gap in the floor to swallow her.

She wasn’t meant to like wizards like Draco Malfoy. He was arrogant, persnickety, and too good-looking. Tall and well-muscled. His face had lost the pointiness and became more rugged when he left boyhood behind. It was more than his looks, though. She liked how clever and sharp-witted he was—his sense of humor was snarky and dark. She was a sucker for a bloke that could make her laugh.

She was not his type either, of that she was certain. She loved her mass of chaotic curls and the only beauty charm she used was eyelash lengthening. She was pedantic, orderly, and enjoyed a quiet night in, as opposed to Malfoy’s blatant galivanting around the Wizarding Social Scene with his mates. 

As she stood on the hill in front of the Portkey—a decrepit, ceramic jug—her nerves ravaged her mood, and she could only fidget while she waited for his arrival. She was early, as always. When the fidgeting became too much, she paced, and then she sorted everything that was in her bag, even though she had checked it nine times before even arriving at the hill. 

She was just putting the last of her supplies into her knapsack when he appeared on the hill. He was dressed in muggle clothing, as requested. A skull cap hid his blonde hair from view, but a charcoal grey hooded sweatshirt snuggly spread across the expanse of his torso. He wore olive-green tactical trousers, and on his feet were black hiking boots. From his belt hung a large knife in the holster. He was too attractive already and dressed as he was only did more to fuel her crush on him. 

He was swaggering toward her, his chest puffed like a rooster and a supercilious grin upon his face. Mirth sparkled in his icy grey eyes, and Hermione realized that he was going to make this excruciatingly difficult for her.

She gulped and wiped at her face, mostly to be sure she wasn’t physically drooling. Fortunately, she wasn’t. 

She greeted him curtly, as she always did. 

“Granger.” He let his gaze travel her form slowly, and his nose pulled back as he smirked. 

She wasn’t sure what he found so amusing. She was dressed similarly to him. Her chestnut hair was wrangled into a braid, and she covered it with a beanie. The rest of her outfit was practical for visiting a mountainous archeological site in Peru: a form-fitting rain jacket, with a light blue oxford, canvas chinos and hiking boots with thick wool socks. Mostly, she found his exacerbating perusal of her unsettling. Not only did she feel self-conscious, but she suddenly felt hot, and like maybe her clothes weren’t fitting quite comfortably. 

He continued to stare at her, as though he knew it aggravated her. But then she remembered that he seemed to enjoy pressing all her buttons until he found the one that made her explode into a diatribe of self-righteousness. She refused to give him the satisfaction today.

She cleared her throat and gestured to the ceramic jug. “Shall we?”

He tilted his head. “Tell me, did you deliberately choose St. Valentine’s day for this excursion as a little vacation to celebrate your singledom?”

Not entirely, but she had welcomed the distraction. However, she refused to let him know that. She let an ornery smile curve her lips. “What’s wrong, Malfoy, missing out on a hot date?”

A flash of emotion shuddered across Malfoy’s expression. “Not the one I wanted,” he murmured. Glancing up at the sky, he peered at it with one eye. “Almost time to go.”

Hermione shuffled closer to the jug, amusement making her feel lighter than before. Any apprehension she had felt before he arrived seemed to dissipate. “Draco Malfoy can’t get the witch of his dreams? What is this? An alternate dimension?”

He scoffed and returned his stare to hers. “What can I say?” He grinned then, with blinding, white teeth that were devastating to Hermione’s libido. “She’s flighty.”

Hermione felt a stab of jealousy and crinkled her nose. “Let’s get on with it.”

As she reached for the ceramic jug, she covertly let her gaze fall from the top of his head, along the width of his shoulders to his arse. Which, she decided as she felt the yank at her belly button, was the fittest bum she’d ever seen on a wizard.

000

“This is all wrong,” Hermione stated as she took in their surroundings. They were dropped in a jungle but not fifty yards from Espiritu Pampa, the Incan ruins, as planned. The Portkey was supposed to bring them ninety-our miles Northwest of Cuzco. Clearly, it hadn’t done so, obvious to her because they were not in the mountains of the Andes.

It was also raining and cold, and the glare that Malfoy was giving her was like an icicle being shoved into her heart. 

She tried to ignore him and focused on the map while she tried to scry their actual location. When she gave the coordinates to the Portkey depot, she had been absolutely careful to make sure it was correct, right down to the degree, minute, and second. Something was off.

“I think we rebounded,” she told him. “We are in Peru, but it seems instead of landing at the dig site, we were bounced about a hundred miles northeast of it.”

He was holding his wand up and used a charm to repel the rain, much like an umbrella. And he was sneering. “So, we’re fucked until the next Portkey is activated tomorrow.”

Hermione bit her lip and nodded. They couldn’t Disapparate because international Apparation was forbidden without special permits, and while Malfoy may have a permanent one, Hermione didn’t have one at all. 

Malfoy pursed his lips and nodded. “Right, well. Can you find us shelter?” 

The crystal pendulum she had used for scrying was charmed to find anything the person holding it asked, so she used it again with her map. “It looks like there is something about a mile and a half east of our current location,” she said with relief. 

As she packed her map and pendulum away, Malfoy cast water-repellant and warming Charms on her before doing the same on himself.

To be truthful, Hermione was frightened. They were in an indigenous territory that was largely undisturbed. And there were wild animals afoot. Ones that might decided that she and Malfoy would make tasty treats. Malfoy had brought a machete and was using it to slash through the growth. His wand was at the ready, though. As was hers.

They didn’t speak for the first hour. Hermione kept them on course by watching her compass, and Malfoy focused on clearing their path. Then the rain stopped half-way through the second hour, and Malfoy deemed they were due for a break. Or, in his case, a chance to get out of his heavy, wet sweatshirt. Except that was probably the worst idea he could have had. Apparently, henleys were designed for Draco Malfoy’s body. 

As he pushed the sleeves up to reveal perfect, sinewy and delightfully sexy forearms, Hermione’s breath caught in her throat and she nearly choked on the water she was sipping. Without thinking, she removed her rain jacket and sat down on a fallen log and re-arranged her braid. 

She was all too aware that he watched her every move. Suddenly, she was struck by the unreasonable need be coy and coquettish. She arched her back and twisted her body into what she thought was the most becoming pose. All while pretending, she was perfectly at ease and her behavior was natural. 

He chuckled at her, shook his head, and turned away to scope out the landscape. 

Reality dumped on Hermione like a monsoon. It was ridiculous to primp while they sat in the middle of a jungle. Why was she behaving so absurdly? It merely happened. She hadn’t even really thought about it. It was just that he looked so right and so alluring that she had an inexplicable urge to entice him the way he enticed her. Or at least, attempt it. 

She spent the next hour mentally chastising herself for her foolishness. There were a hundred other things that she should be doing whilst traipsing through the jungle and flirting with Draco Malfoy was not one of them. She could be admiring the Amazonian flora, deciphering the calls of the native birds, or even keeping a vigilant eye for predatory mammals.

Later, as she followed behind him while he swung the macheted in an endless figure eight through the bush, she only noticed the way the Henley fit so snuggly and gave her the opportunity to watch with wonder at the way his muscles moved under his shirt.

Soon they came upon an old Cessna 208 lodged in a tree. Its wings had been shorn off, and its body had taken a beating. However, it seemed sturdy enough, and the vines had grown thick around it, giving it an appearance of permanence. Hermione shot a few blasting spells at the plane to test its fastness. 

“We should be safe up there,” said Malfoy, obviously pleased with the craft’s durability. He dropped his knapsack at his feet and crouched to rummage through it. 

Hermione gave him an incredulous look. “Except from Jaguars!”

He flashed her a wolfish grin as he withdrew a rope. “We’ll just have to be sure to make a lot of noise.”

Her heart skipped not one but a thousand beats, and time slowed. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. He couldn’t be suggesting—no. But what if he was? Would she? Oh yes—

“We’re due for a row anyway, yeah?” He wasn’t looking at her. He had made a knot in the rope and was preparing to swing it up and over a branch. 

Ah. Yes. That was more logical than him suggesting they have loud, riotous sex inside an old, forgotten fuselage wedged high in a tree. That they would argue so loudly that any life form would be frightened away. Taking a moment to compose herself, she asked, “How are we getting up there?”

He smirked and waggled his eyebrows. Then giving the rope a good yank to make sure it was secure, Malfoy began to climb up it.

His ascent was effortless, and Hermione suspected that he was aided by magic. Still, it was a scene to behold. Especially with his forearms on display and his perfect arse showcased in those trousers as he moved up the rope.

Hermione felt warm and flushed. How was she supposed to spend the entire night in the small quarters of a Cessna?

As she climbed her way up, she resolved to ignore him as much as possible. 

Thankfully, nothing decomposing was occupying the space, and with a little Charm, Hermione was able to start a small fire. 

Malfoy rummaged around the compartments of the Cessna and eventually found a couple bottles of wine in the cupboard of the small galley. From Hermione’s pack, she withdrew two cups and some food that could be expanded and heated with the tap of a wand.

At first, Hermione refused to indulge in the wine. She had water, and besides, she needed to keep her capabilities clear in the event that something came around that was dangerous. The truth was that she was nervous that if she drank, her inhibitions may lower, and she might really throw herself at Malfoy.

She tried to blame the way she was reacting to him on her current romantic drought, but secretly she knew it was more. 

“C’mon, Granger.” He held the open bottle toward her. 

She eyed it skeptically. It _would_ help warm her up. The chill of the night seemed to linger in the periphery. And it was pinot noir. Which was her favorite. 

“It’s St. Valentine’s Day.” He waved it in front of her, his voice was in singsong. “Have one drink and relax.”

She gave in. Partly because it was a really good bottle, but mostly because Draco Malfoy was charming when he wanted to be. 

One drink turned into three. Her body was relaxed in the co-pilot’s seat, and she felt loose, maybe even giggly. 

She was telling him a story about the time she had been working on a particularly nasty mask that seemed to have a personality of its own. It had liked to prank those who worked in the department. Even going so far to pour wax on her head. 

Malfoy was watching her intently, a hint of a bemused smile on his lips, and there was a strange kindness in his eyes. “It’s good to see you relaxed, Granger.”

She scoffed exasperatedly. “I know how to have a good time, Malfoy. Just not with the likes of you.”

He raised a dark blonde brow. “The likes of me?” 

She nodded. 

“Why not me?” he asked, his bottom lip pushing out a bit as though to pout.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and did her best to ignore his mouth completely. “You’re enormously annoying.” Her reason was flimsy, she realized remorsefully. And suddenly, she didn’t know what to do with her hands. So, she fiddled with the buttons of her oxford.

Malfoy laughed. “I thought we were doing away with misconceptions, Miss No-Sticks-In-This-Cute-Little-Arse.”

Hermione jerked in her chair at his assessment of her rear-end. He had said cute. Her stomach filled with whirling dervishes and her heart pounded at the compliment. “Hmm. Fine. Give it your best shot to convince me that you aren’t annoying, and I’ll try to show you that I know how to have a good time.”

“I’ll probably always be annoying, Granger.” His grin was mischievous and infectious. Hermione began to let hers match his before she realized what she was doing. 

Immediately, she turned her attention to the peek of clear sky she could see through the break in the canopy. The Cessna’s front windows were large and angled just right to allow a direct view of space. Stars littered the night in an abundance that was rare to witness. Too many to count. The wine warmed her cheeks, the fire filled the cabin with a warm flickering glow, and a soothing crackle that created an intimate ambiance. Hermione was totally into it and felt incredibly Zen. 

“Can you believe that we are only a small planetary system, in one arm of a spiraling galaxy in a universe of a googolplex of galaxies that make up just the knowable universe?” Hermione’s voice was soft and inquisitive, wistful really. 

Draco turned his head to her, delight spreading in a smirk across his face. “My gods. You’re blitzed!”

Discomfiture bloomed in her cheeks, and although she was simultaneously thankful that he couldn’t see it in the shadows, she was also incredibly affronted. “It’s truly incredible, Malfoy! That’s all! Beautiful.” She folded her arms over her chest and turned her attention back to the sky.

She could feel him staring at her. “What?”

“I’ve never seen stars as beautiful as your eyes in firelight,” his voice was low, gravelly, and sent a zing up her spine causing her skin to break out in goosebumps. 

She met his gaze with surprise, but then she began to laugh. It bubbled out of her without preamble and could not be contained. The harder she tried, the harder she giggled. With a stitch in her side, she wheezed, “Does that work for you?”

He was no longer amused. Instead, he appeared murderous. Apparently, he didn’t like to be laughed at. “Does what work for me?”

Barely containing her mirth, Hermione replied. “That lousy pick-up line.”

He sneered. “It wasn’t a pick-up line.”

“Oh? An observation then?” The very idea only made her laugh harder.

He shook his head. “More like a side-effect of the alcohol,” he murmured as he turned his attention away from her.

She didn’t quite believe him. “So you like me?”

It was his turn to scoff. “You wish.”

There was something underlying his tone that struck Hermione with sobriety at the realization. She sat up and stared at him with awe. “No, Malfoy. _You_ wish.” It wasn’t an accusation. It was merely an epiphany. 

Suddenly, she looked back on all their interactions since that night at Harry’s party. It was so obvious that she felt ashamed she had been so obtuse. “Oh, gosh.”

When Draco glanced at her, his face was stoic, but in his beautiful, grey eyes, his feelings were noticeably clear.

Hermione wasn’t sure who reached for whom, but within moments, their lips met in a fevered rush.

000

It was the call of tropical bird that pulled Hermione from her slumber. The morning light came streaming in, but all she really noticed was that she was naked and being spooned by Draco in a sleeping bag on the floor of the Cessna. It was honestly the coziest she’d ever been, and she didn’t move for fear of breaking the moment.

Seconds climbed over minutes, and soon, Draco clutched her tighter against him and placed a kiss on her shoulder.

“What now?” Her voice sounded small and faraway. 

He rested his forehead where he had kissed her. “I suppose we should get dressed and find the time, so we don’t miss the Portkey activation.”

Inexplicably, heartbreak and rejection welled up into her chest. She should have known it was all merely a fluke. Wizards like Draco enjoyed casual sex. That’s all this was. A result of the situation and the circumstances. She could untether the strings. Right?

No. She was rubbish at casual sex. However, there was a first time for everything, right? 

“Hermione, stop thinking,” he murmured. “I’d rather stay here and explore you once more in the daylight before reality demands us to do our jobs.”

She turned quickly in his arms, disbelief drawing her brows together. “You don’t regret last night?”

Draco chuckled and pushed her hair out of her face. “Obviously not.” He let his palm slide down her body and then he hooked her thigh over his hip. His large and eager arousal pressed intimately against her.

Delight flushed her skin and she let him kiss her languorously. Merlin, he was a skilled kisser. He could call forth all the emotions a girl fought so hard to keep contained in her heart. It was dangerous and addictive. 

When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her somberly. With unexpected tenderness, he used his thumb to score the curve of her cheek. “This is the start of something, Hermione.”

His voice was laced with an unspoken promise, and when he took her again in the glow of the morning, it stitched their strings together, knotted them tightly.

Later, after they had dressed and an had a quick breakfast, they climbed out of the Cessna to wait for the Portkey to activate. 

It was a nondescript soft drink can. Hermione set it on a nearby stump while Draco scanned the area. When he came to stand beside her, she said, “Pity we’re returning without the artefact.”

He laced his fingers with hers slowly and deliberately, as though he was binding them together. He pressed a sweet, but feverish kiss to her lips. “But we’re returning with something much more precious.”

When the familiar tug of the Portkey erupted in her belly, Hermione grinned. She was inclined to agree. After all, love was the most ancient and powerful magic.


End file.
